


Secrets, Secrets

by closetcellist, DelusionsbyBonnie, The London-in-the-Air Archival Society (sakuuya)



Series: The London-in-the-Air Archival Society [6]
Category: Battle for London in the Air
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 07:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya/pseuds/The%20London-in-the-Air%20Archival%20Society
Summary: Rescued set descriptions (and set images, where possible) from round 5 of the Polyvore battle group Battle for London in the Air. Primarily not my work, uploaded here unedited for archival purposes.





	1. Maddie Summers / @a-eterno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @a-eterno.

An opera.

"You want to go to an opera, Dave?" She said lightly, but feeling more like she was going to rip something into pieces. Preferably his head.

"Why yes, Maddie- I would very much like to go to an opera." The little cheeky bugger said, with his pearly whites on display. The little scene would've melted any weak-hearted, easily charmed woman, but it sure wasn't going to do so to her. He could go to the opera alone, and she was sure that he could find at least one person to go with him from his long line of amantes (though- knowing him- it was probably going to be three women on his arm.)

"Why don't you want to go?" He pouted, leaning over the wooden table.

"I already socialized with those good-for-nothings once in the last month,"-referring to the Steer's ball-"and I really don't want to hear those whooperups at the Opera again. They gave me an earache the last time." She sighed. "And then I have to dress up, and it's simply not proper for a woman to be with a man that she is not married to or not currently courting." Maddie said indignantly, ignoring the fact that since they'd been seen together for so long they probably were already married in the public eye.

"You're such a gnashgab, Madelaide.” Dave dramatically sighed, leaning back and putting a hand over his eyes in false lament.

“And you’re absolutely ridiculous. Now, I have things to do, so if you might move out of the way-“ She started to say, but Dave perked up so quickly that she stopped mid-motion.

“What genius idea have you come up with now?” She muttered, annoyed. Maddie was not in the mood for his antics.

“Well…there is a ballet at the Opera tonight, besides the usual opera. We can go to that?” He said, and she looked at him weirdly.

“Why are you so obsessed with going out today?”

“We never do anything anymore. it used to be you getting almost shot or getting caught on fire, but now it’s just dull.” He complained, and Maddie rolled her eyes.

“Really- Boredom? That’s your excuse? Well, lucky you- I happen to love ballet. But, we an go under one condition.”

“What? What is it?” Dave asked eagerly, looking akin to a hopeless little puppy who was about to have his dreams crushed. Maddie gave him a cool smile.

“You’re paying.”

“Oh, _no._ Well, I guess that’s the price of having a beautiful woman in your arms.” He winked at her, and Maddie had to try very hard not to smash her empty glass into his much too confident expression.

“Oh, go bark up another tree,” she muttered half-heartedly.

“It’s a…date, then.” Dave laughed, and Maddie sighed. How did she get stuck with this man? What did she do in her past life to deserve such an exquisite torture?

“Apparently so.”

***

“I have to leave early today, Chauncey. Sorry.” Maddie said, watching the stately grandfather clock tick away in the corner of the room. her fingers fiddled with the document she’d been holding, one that she’d been trying to read for the past half hour. Chauncey looked up at her, one eyebrow cocked.

“You never leave early, Maddie. Most days, I have to drag you from the desk. Is it too impertinent to ask why exactly you must leave early?” The man oh-so pertly asked. Maddie grumbled under her breath.

“Yes, it’s much too impertinent,” she said, but her resolve wilted under his questioning gaze.

“Well, it’s a night out at the ballet,” she beat around the bush.

“With who, exactly?”

“Eh… Davis Heaton?” Maddie ventured, twiddling with her fingers. Chauncey’s face butted with doubt and worry (and a certain bit of indignation).

“Are you buggerin’ insane?” Chauncey spat out, his eyebrow hiking up to his hair at an alarming rate. “He’s a government assassin, Maddie. Even if you think that he cares for you, the man would kill you the second he knew you were part of the Rebellion. He works for the government, Maddie. Don’t be daft.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Unless if you’re trying to get information out of him. I… suppose I can give you credit for that if this is the case.”

It wasn’t. Maddie had met Davis years before she’d joined and known that he was more dangerous than the helpless little puppy he seemed to be, but it seemed stupid that she had been genuinely friends with Dave, instead of using him and throwing him away. She definitely couldn’t do it now, at least. Over the course of some years, he’d grown dear to her. Maddie valued his friendship, but surely a little white lie to preserve her good view in Chauncey’s eyes wouldn’t hurt?

“Of course, Chauncey. Why else would I be with him, anyway? If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a gullible fool.” She said sharply, but Maddie’s tone wavered when she realized that Chauncey’s theory could go both ways. Could Dave be trying to get information out of her, for the government? She swallowed slowly, then clenched her fists and sighed through closed teeth. Maddie couldn’t show weakness. She needed to be invulnerable in front of him tonight, and she’d start now.

“Of course.” Chauncey watched her oddly as she gathered her jacket and purse. “Have you heard the news?”

Maddie stopped at the iron door, frowning. “Not exactly. Care to divulge?” She said casually, burning to know what said news was. Chauncey just shrugged.

“I’m sure you’ll hear it soon. Expect a tickertext around…” he glanced at the clock, “eleven o’ clock sharp. Good day, Maddie.” He nodded, and she to him- feeling a little bit touched at the fact that the Rebellion used her invention to send her a message. A tickertext was a small, coppery metallic bug that could scurry in small tubes around the city in order to quickly deliver private messages immediately. The government had begun to implement the small underground tubes for the bugs to crawl through, but for now they were programmed to crawl through some old abandoned service pipes. The rebellion was concerned about the intercepting of important messages, but Maddie had thankfully found a way around that. Besides some messages being encrypted, Maddie would program the bugs to keep on crawling through the old service tunnels, instead of the new ones being constructed.

“Good day, Chauncey.” She smiled cautiously, throwing on her comfortable jacket and emerging to the luxury store’s storage room in the back. Opening the door to the street and looking around in case of any spies, she finally walked on and took off to her house in her curricle.

She didn’t want to be late, after all.

***

As Maddie’s bustle once again interfered with her passing through a doorframe, she cursed her bad judgement of wanting to put one on in the first place. Her dress was a luxurious cream with blue beading, braiding, and undercoats. While her skirt wasn’t in a ridiculous hoop (as was popular during her mother’s time), it poufed out in the back horridly. She’d also had her corset laced (with the help of a maid and solidly gripping a bedpost for an hour), and her hair pin-curled (she refused to put it up, though. It would fall out anyways). Thankfully, she could still wear comfortable slippers under all of the skirts. Sighing, she made her way down the grand stairs in the front of her Alpha mansion and checked the grandfather clock near the side of the vast room, worrying that they were going to be late. It was one of her favourite ballets, (although it was unpopular when first produced) Swan Lake. It was tragic and with a good score, so Maddie was set for a nice night.

A nice night? Maddie shook her head. She’d have to be painfully aware of the fact that Dave might’ve been using her for most of their relationship. Nothing could be the same if such a fact was revealed. Swallowing, she adjusted the knife inside her reticule and winced as the _other_ knife in her garter stuck into her skin, probably drawing blood.

“I really hope that doesn’t stain,” Maddie muttered, rolling her eyes and straightening herself to receive Dave at the door. He received her at the door, arm out and smile at full shine. Dave’s hair was charmingly slicked back, and his cravat was only slightly rumpled before Maddie sighed and straightened it.

“Must you always rumple it before we go out?’ Maddie muttered, patting it down as she finished and accepting his proffered arm, internally wondering what his metal arm felt when her arm was tucked in it. They approached his coach, and Maddie nodded to the driver as Davis gave her his hand to boost her in the massive thing. She sighed in relief as her bottom finally hit a chair.

“I feared for a moment that I was going to be in a hackney,” Maddie said, shivering. Dave laughed at her, acting mock-offended.

“I would never,” he said indignantly, giving her a look as she looked at him disbelievingly.

“Of course.” Maddie muttered under her breath, leaning back into the cushy chairs and closing her eyes. “So, you’ve got the tickets, no? For Swan Lake?”

“Yes, I do Maddie. I’m not as daft as you think I am,” he added the other part more quietly. Maddie gave him a sharp look, then inwardly shrugged. His problems were his, not hers. They rode in silence, with Maddie giving her reticule a look and Davis balefully staring out of the window. When they reached the grand building- carriages clacking on the marble and ladies accompanied by their loves- Davis offered his hand to her, and she (unwillingly, mind you) lightly took his elbow. He gave her a look of utter frustration.

“Are you going to act like this for the rest of the night?” He asked, with such a tone of exasperation that Maddie felt a bit of pity.

“It wasn’t just me acting like a fool, but I’ll let you get away with it for once. I apologize, let us start anew.” Maddie gave him a half smile, and wormed her fingers deeper into his elbow. They ventured into the Opera House, occasionally pausing to greet other ballet goers. She had a particularly interesting conversation with Patience Whitcomb, a level headed woman that’d she’d met a few weeks ago when she’d arrived from America. Maddie and Dave finally reached their seats after a few minutes, and Maddie once again collapsed into it and whispered a few choice words as her corset dug into her back.

“Merde.” She muttered, rubbing her back. Dave chuckled softly, but it was suddenly cut off as he looked at something rapidly approaching them.

“Wonderful to see you today, Maddie.” A delightfully wicked voice carried out through their small opera box, and Maddie once again cursed her dismal luck.

“I thought I told you to call me Madelaide,” Maddie muttered under her breath, and Warren passed her a cruelly amused look.

“But it makes you sound like such an old maid, ‘Miss Madelaide’! But I guess it suits you.” Warren smirked, and Maddie positively fumed under her amused smile.

“So how is the work in the laboratories going, Warren?” Davis asked pleasantly, ignoring Maddie’s distress.

“Oh…very well. The newest prototypes are having slight malfunctions- and key materials have gone missing- , but overall they are on a fast track to success.” Warren said, a shadow passing over his face as he spoke of the malfunctions. Davis’ grip on Maddie’s hand tightened almost painfully, but he smiled at Warren charmingly.

“Wonderful that they are going so well, Warren. I wish for the total success of the project.” Warren looked like he wanted to say more, but the opera lights suddenly dimmed and he was forced to sit down, next to Maddie (which was an unfortunate fact.)

Maddie found herself almost unable to focus on the beautiful ballet before her when such unnerving men were next to her. She leaned closer to Davis, touching his elbow. He gave her a surprised look, but did not pull away- his eyebrows seemed to stay down in a focused manner. They stayed like that for the length of the ballet, with Maddie wondering what had gotten into her.

***

The night had suddenly gone cold and chilly as they stepped out, wearing Maddie down to the bone. There was an odd tension between Davis and her, and it was disconcerting. Sighing softly, she once again stepped into the coach. Davis sat surprisingly close to her, and Maddie tried to scoot away. But he leaned in again dangerously close, and whispered in her ear:

“Would you like to go get a drink?” He whispered, his air hot and prickly on her neck. She resisted the urge to shiver, and checked the small watch that had embroidered itself into the wall of the coach. It was almost eleven, and Maddie hesitated.

“I’m not sure if that is proper, Davis…” She started, but he gripped her wrist.

“Of course.” He said bitterly, and Maddie felt guilty somehow. Looking out the window, she reluctantly reconsidered.

“Alright…fine. But I need to return to the mansion for a minute, to receive a letter.” Maddie said, and they made idle chatter as the coach stopped in front of her house. Davis entered in with her, and Maddie waited close to the tickertext tube. When the clock struck eleven, the little metallic bug arrived through the tube. Pricking it up in her hands, Maddie yanked the tiny letter from its antennae. As Davis looked at her peculiarly, she read the letter with increasing panic. Who was this Archivist? Was he the man that’d been sending her those messages? Crumbling the tiny people in her hand, she swallowed hard. This was bad.

“What did you just receive, Madelaide?” Davis’ voice sounded serious-for once- and Maddie averted her eyes.

“Nothing important.” She muttered, but Davis didn’t look convinced.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Davis said, getting closer to her. She moved away, frowning.

“Well, is it any of your business?” Maddie snapped, and Davis gave her a surprisingly chilled smile. Maddie moved farther away, but Davis moved closer.

“Davis, you are in a very odd mood today.” Maddie said, starting to be very concerned.

“Am I really?” He smirked, and Maddie’s eyes widened. “Well, I recently discovered something about you that could potentially be devastating.”

“W-what?!” Maddie said, trying to keep her composure under control.

“I heard that you were part of the Rebellion, Maddie. Is that true?” He said as if he already was certain of the answer. Maddie felt her friendship crumbling to pieces as she swallowed slowly, wondering what the government assassin was going to do to her.


	2. Rebecca Tyler / @lunaofthemiste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @lunaofthemiste.

Rebecca was lost in thought. She stared at the half-blank page before her, biting her lip, an old childhood habit. It had been a few weeks since the election, and she had gotten used to being a base leader. The location of her base, the Epsilon-Iota Crossing had made getting to and from the base easier to do and easier to hide from her family. They didn’t care much about where she was anyway, she often fibbed about going to visit this friend or that friend, or going to the library.

Sighing, Rebecca decided that she needed a break from the report she had been writing, and pulled out a small journal from the drawer in her desk. The base wasn’t anything grand to brag about, but it had enough room for desks for both Tristan and Rebecca. She had brought a few things from home with the excuse of ‘personalizing’ the space, but the real reason was much darker. Trying to get this thought out of her head, she started writing in her journal in an effort to clear her mind.

“What are you writing?” Tristan asked, suddenly standing in front of Rebecca’s desk.

Rebecca jumped, having been completely lost in though. She slammed her journal closed on instinct. “Nothing.” She blurted out.

Tristan frowned. “It’s not nothing, I saw you writing in there." He rationalized.

Rebecca sighed. "Just jotting some thoughts down in a journal. A _private_ journal." She emphasized.

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "I see." He spoke after some hesitation, walking over to his desk.

Rebecca sighed and barely concealed her eye roll. "Let me guess, my private journal is going to be a problem for you."

“It’s not a problem.” Tristan defended. “But we are on the same side, and we are base leaders together. I don’t think we should be keeping secrets."

“This is a personal journal. I haven’t written anything in here about the Resistance, if that is what you are worried about.” Rebecca justified, putting the journal away.

“If you say so…” Tristan trailed off, looking through a pile of papers at his own desk.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know you better I’d say you thought I was the bloody Archivist.” She commented, receiving a look from Tristan in response. “I get it, everyone is on edge and they are going to suspect each other, but it isn’t me.” She pointed out.

Tristan sighed. “We were doing so well, and then this…person just comes in and thinks that they can just manipulate us into doing what they want.” He explained calmly, though it was clear that this irked him.

Rebecca hesitated. “That’s not necessarily what they said. They just want to weed out corruption, not force our hand.” She spoke, but it was implied that this Archivist _could_ force their hand if needed.

“Do you actually believe that’s all they will do? They know _everything_ , Rebecca. Do you want what happened to Oscar to happen to you?” Tristan said, exasperated.

“I-“ Rebecca began, but cut herself off when someone entered the base. “We will discuss this later.” She said quietly, turning her attention to the newcomer. He was dressed in the clothes of a typical Low Towner, yet the way he carried himself showed that he had to be somewhat educated. Despite this, he still managed to close the door on the back of his jacket, making Rebecca question her first assumption.

The newcomer winced. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve only been ere a few seconds and I already make some sort of blunder.” He looked around. “From the looks of it, I’ve got the right place, haven’t I?"

Rebecca frowned, glancing at Tristan. “It depends on what place you’re looking for.” She said cryptically.

“Oh, you don’t even know who I am. That’s my fault, I suppose. My name is Greg Harris, I’m, uh…” Greg winced.

“From the Low Town, yes.” Tristan nodded, holding out his hand to shake. “We heard about your arrival, and we’re glad to have you here.” He smiled charmingly. My name is Tristan Curtis, and this is t-”

“Rebecca Tyler.” Rebecca interrupted, not wanting to add her title. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Greg.” She smiled softly.

Greg nodded, shaking Tristan’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you both. As soon as I heard about the Resistance I knew I had to help out. The things that have gone down…” He hesitated. “They shouldn’t be happening, that’s for certain."

Rebecca nodded. “We agree, and that’s why we joined. To fix this problem and make life better for everyone in London-In-The-Air.” She stated, then deciding to ask a question. “What did you do in the Low Town?"

“I was a schoolmaster, of sorts.” Greg explained, smiling at the thought. “See, my parents had me more educated than a lot of the others in Low Town, and I wanted to pass it on to the other children there. It was…amazing to see how much they all learned, and boy, I was proud."

Tristan smiled. “That’s great. Maybe you’ll do that after this is dealt with.” He shrugged.

“I guess. Maybe? I don’t know.” Greg bit his lip. “I think I’d rather focus on the task at hand.” He decided.

Rebecca nodded. “Well, if you are looking for somewhere to help out, you can come to Base Four anytime.” She offered.

“I’d like that, I think. Maybe Sadie would too.” Greg nodded, smiling. “Sadie’s my friend, she came up too. I’m supposed to meet her…” He looked at the cracked pocket watch he had. “Now. Oh dear."

“You better go, don’t keep her waiting.” Tristan said, understanding. “Where did you get that pocket watch, by the way?” He asked.

“My father. I think it was his father’s? I’m not too sure.” Greg said quickly. “I really must be going, but it was a pleasure to meet both of you!” He exclaimed before running out the door, slamming it on his jacket, opening the door, removing the jacket, and closing it once again.

After a moment, Tristan crossed his arms. “Well…” He said.

“He was nice.” Rebecca commented. “Educated, too, by the looks of it. I suppose we will be seeing more of him soon."

Tristan nodded. “I suppose…” He looked away. “Earlier, you said something about the Archivist.” He mentioned.

Rebecca sighed. “Yes, I did.” She confirmed, but didn’t elaborate.

“Are you afraid? You didn’t sound afraid, you just thought they were going to weed out corruption.” Tristan commented.

Rebecca swallowed. “Afraid? Of course I’m afraid. If they tell, more people will get hurt, and not just me."

Tristan frowned, looking over to Rebecca with concern in his eyes. “This just isn’t about being in the Resistance, is it?” He asked quietly. “What did you do?"

Rebecca refused to make eye contact. “My maid, Amelie, wrote a letter stating what I was doing.” She said quietly. “I burned the letter and reported her instead. She was innocent, and I have likely sent her to her death…I suppose I only did it because….” She hesitated. “I do not know how well I would have been under torture, and I could not risk taking anyone else down.” She admitted.

Tristan took a deep breath. “You were scared, and you were protecting yourself and the Resistance. I don’t see a problem with that.” He told her calmly.

“But I do, I could have found a way around it.” Rebecca looked down. “There has to be a way to fix things."

Tristan walked over and but a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “There wasn’t another way, and I care too much about you to have yourself walk in and get yourself killed over this.” He told her. “It’s not your fault, and the Archivist will see that."

Rebecca looked up at Tristan. “I do hope that you are right.” She said quietly, half-smiling.

“I think I am.” Tristan smiled back at her, and leaned in slightly. Rebecca felt herself leaning in as well, then abruptly pulled away.

“I’m sorry, I’m late for dinner.” She fibbed, shoving her journal in her purse and feeling her face turn the same color as her dress.

“Uh, of course.” Tristan nodded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked.

Rebecca nodded quickly. “Yes, tomorrow.” She told him, heading out the door without saying a goodbye. She sighed, not knowing what came over her. “Bloody hell…” She murmured, heading back to her house, knowing that it would take more than journal writing to process what just happened.


	3. Elizabeth Maximoff / @multifandomgal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @multifandomgal.

Elizabeth was in the midst of organising her new workspace at the Omicron platform base, which was slowly becoming like a second home to her, when an elegant and unfamiliar woman waltzed in. "Um, hello! Can I help you?" She asked, unsure whether this woman was part of the resistance or not. "Oh hello dear! I am Faith Whitcomb; I was just passing through, and I thought I should introduce myself to a few of my fellow 'rebels' as it were." The stranger spoke with an American accent, which was an unusual thing around these parts, so Liz was intrigued.

"I'm Elizabeth Maximoff; gadgeteer for the resistance. Pleased to meet you!" She and Faith then shook hands, as all polite persons do on a first meeting, and exchanged smiles. "It's a pleasure to meet you too! May I ask, what sort of thing are you working on?"

"Nothing much today - I just got moved to a new base, so there's still a lot of organising to do..." Liz gestured to the piles of blueprints and scrap metal that littered her desk. "Well, I do hope you get back to work soon. Say, you look about the same age as my daughter Felicity - I simply must introduce you to her sometime!"

"I'd like that very much, Ms Whitcomb, thank you!"

"Jolly good! I suppose I must be on my way now; I couldn't bear to distract you even more from your work!"

"It's no problem, in fact, would you like me to escort you out? This place is like a maze if you're not used to it!"

"That would be wonderful, thank you dear!" Faith beamed at her, and with that, the rather mismatched pair headed off out onto Omicron platform.


	4. Andrew O'Rourke / @delusionsbybonnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @delusionsbybonnie, aka [DelusionsbyBonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie).

Andrew scowled down at the man behind the table. It was the same bloke as the last time he’d been to the fights, and he never had liked Andrew. “Here t’fight. Heavy hitters, not little first timers. I know what I’m worth.”

The man scowled right back at him. “They’ll call you when it’s your turn, Paddy. You know how it works.”

“I remember.” Andrew shouldered his way past the other men to claim a spot with a decent view. He had a while to wait.

***

After his third fight, Andrew wiped his face clean with his shirt, leaving it smeared with blood and sweat. A broad man in a suit handed him an envelope full of bills and clapped his shoulder. “Good t’see you again, O’Rourke.”

“You too, Hawkins. How’s the business?” Andrew grinned crookedly past his swollen cheek.

“Which business? The legitimate business is a little shaky with the rebellion goin’, but the shady side is booming. About that-- you want some more work? Boss is lookin’ for a few good men.”

“Oh aye, I’m needin’ some more money about now. Trouble back home, you know. Me auntie Moira recently lost her husband, God rest him.” Andrew crossed himself respectfully.

“Sure, I’ll put your name in. Still stayin’ in that rathole?”

“Aye, you know where to find me. Thanks, Hawkins.”

***

Andrew pushed the infirmary door open, stepping inside into the warm yellow lamplight. It was late, but he was confident the Doc was still awake. It wasn’t too much to take care of-- bruised cheek, cut across the bridge of his nose, torn-up knuckles-- but Doc would fuss if he didn’t come by. He might fuss anyway, since Andrew had started fighting again, but that was a price Andrew was willing to pay.

Andrew wiped his feet on the mat and headed toward the doctor’s office. He turned the corner abruptly and collided with a tall, skinny, well-dressed man. He cursed, and the man exclaimed in dismay, stepping back a pace and surveying his front.

“Damn you, sir! You got blood on my shirt.”

“Damn yourself, you toff,” Andrew grumbled. He hadn’t met many of the new people yet, but none of them had been so immediately unpleasant as this fellow.

The man’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “You! You’re the Irishman!”

“Well spotted. Now bugger off.”

“Damn your impudence, you infernal Irish cur!” the man cried, puffing his chest out.

Andrew scowled, pulling himself up. “Watch your mouth and get out of my way unless you want to be the fourth man I beat tonight.”

“How dare you! You cannot intimidate--” The Englishman’s tirade was cut off by Andrew’s forearm across his throat, slamming him against the wall.

“Watch. Your. Mouth,” Andrew snarled, raising his fist, his nose scant inches from the man’s own. The man gurgled a bit, eyes wide.

“Andrew! No!”

A hand pulled at Andrew’s shoulder, and he turned his scowl onto the interruption only to find that it was Phinn. “I won’t have brawling in my base,” he said, looking determined.

Andrew dropped his arms, freeing the man, who slumped against the wall and gasped in a grateful breath. “He started it.”

Phinn frowned. “Er… Andrew, this is Lord Beck--”

“Is he?” Andrew interrupted the introduction, turning on the man once more. Phinn grabbed his shoulder again, pulling him back a step.

“Lord Beck, this is Andrew O’Rourke,” he continued determinedly. “And both of you will comport yourselves like gentlemen while under this roof!”

Andrew glared at Beck, who nodded stiffly to him.

“Now, Andrew, what have you been doing?” Phinn continued, expression turning to concern. “You look terrible! Dr Jhandir is in his office, I believe. I suppose that’s where you were headed.”

With one last glare at Beck, Andrew allowed Phinn to shepherd him along the corridor toward the office. If Beck was spending his time at this base, then he and the doctor had a lot to discuss.


	5. Dr. Jhandir / @sakuuya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya).

Dr. Jhandir capped Bart Spencer’s gastrostomy tube and wiped it, as well as its incision site, with a sterilization agent. Tube-feeding was in all honesty disgusting work, and there was little risk to the patient after the initial insertion, so he could easily have forced the duty on one of his subordinates. He was increasingly insistent of performing it himself, though, as a sort of apology for how little else he could do for Spencer. He’d tried everything he could think of, but aside from the odd twitch, nothing suggested that the man would ever wake up, and he knew that the longer a coma continued, the less chance there was of it ever ending.

Dr. Jhandir startled at the sound of a soft knock on the open bedroom door. This whole business with the Archivist had him jumping at shadows. But of course, the person lurking outside his bedroom was no mysterious threat. In fact, it was Cordelia, with a younger woman whom Dr. Jhandir didn’t recognize in tow. There were too many such faces in the resistance these days, a fact which did nothing to soothe his growing paranoia.

“Do you have a moment, Anil?” Cordelia asked. Dr. Jhandir sighed.

“Of course. It’s not as though poor Mr. Spencer is going anywhere. What can I do for you?”

“My sister recently arrived from America, and I’m introducing her around.” Cordelia indicated the young lady behind her who, now that Dr. Jhandir was paying more attention, did look rather similar. “Celine, this is Dr. Jhandir, who runs this infirmary with Phinn.”

The captain looked a bit apprehensive about the introduction, but Dr. Jhandir had no idea what she thought he might do that was cause for such worry. He gave Celine a shallow bow.

“Oh, a doctor?” Celine asked, eyes bright. “Tell me, if you were going to flay a man, where would you make the first cut?”

It was such a bizarre, unexpected question that Dr. Jhandir blurted out, “Just beside the spine,” before his brain caught up with his mouth and prevented him from elaborating.

Cordelia covered her mouth with her hand, though Dr. Jhandir couldn’t tell whether she was trying to stifle a sigh or a laugh. Celine, in contrast, looked absolutely thrilled with his answer. She took a journal and self-filling mechanical pen from her handbag and scribbled something down even as she asked her next question.

“And after you skinned him, how long would you expect him to live before he bled out?”

“I really couldn’t say,” the doctor protested, though in truth he suspected he was the Empire’s foremost expert on the subject. He mentally cast around for a less-fraught topic of conversation, with little finesse: “So, do you fly airships like your sister?”

Celine laughed and snapped her journal shut, taking the clumsy subject change with good grace. “No, I’ve no head for anything mechanical. I’m a paintress.”

“Oh? what do you paint?” Dr. Jhandir asked, more out of politeness than any real concern for the answer. He mentally steeled himself to feign interest in descriptions of dreary watercolor flowers.

“Deaths and executions, mostly. Did you know that, after a man has been executed by guillotine, his head continues to live for ten seconds?”

“I have heard that, yes.” Dr. Jhandir said, keeping his tone neutral.

His own research into post-execution life had been brief, despite that damned spiritualist Beck’s keenness for anything hinting at a soul continuing after the point of death. Still, Celine’s choice of subject was much more intriguing than he had anticipated.

“Once you’ve settled in, I would enjoy a chance to see your work,” he continued, with more enthusiasm. “I may even purchase a piece or two, if you’ve any for sale.”

“I’d like that very much, doctor!”

Cordelia, wearing an expression of fond exasperation, turned to glance at the parlor; when she turned back, she was grimacing. “Thaddeus is coming this way, and I am in no mood to deal with him, so if you’ll excuse me…” Dr. Jhandir nodded, and Cordelia motioned to her sister. “Come on, Celine.”

“I’d like to stay and talk to Dr. Jhandir,” the younger woman replied.

Cordelia looked poised to argue with her sister, but Beck was getting very close. “Suit yourself. I advise against telling Thaddeus who you are, unless you want him to trail after you like a duckling all day.” She slid out into the parlor a moment or two before Lord Beck strode in.

“Anil,” Beck said with a nod. He didn’t try to shake hands, but the doctor was thrown by how calm he sounded. Dr. Jhandir had expected him to be livid. “I was ready to tear into you for that little display you and Faye put on,” he admitted, “but on my journey here to reprimand you, I remembered the depths of the disservice I had done you. I know how the things we were made to do must weigh on your soul as they do on mine, and I understand why you might see me as the cause of that moral weight. I was only trying to preserve my own sanity in the face of the government’s brutality! But it was wrong of me to push my misdeeds onto you, and after you—after I thought you took your own life, I realized that your suffering must have been nearly as great as my own.”

That...explained a lot, actually, Dr. Jhandir thought, though a moral disgust with the government was hardly more becoming than the laziness and glory-hogging Dr. Jhandir had long attributed to the man. As Beck continued his monologue, though, Dr. Jhandir felt his face grow increasingly hot, his bitter amusement over Beck’s lack of spine quickly transmuting to anger. Did Beck seriously think that was the root of him dislike? Not forcing him to do Beck’s work, not taking credit for his successes, but involving him in unethical experiments? Preposterous. The doctor gritted his teeth as Beck continued.

Beck had delivered his little speech with all the melodramatic vigor his ridiculous soul could muster, but he had a lot more trouble choking out his next words: “I… I apologize for the evil I bade you to do.”

All the words drained from Dr. Jhandir’s head, replaced with a pure flame of fury. He’d wished often enough for Beck to apologize, true enough, but the man really had no idea what he’d done wrong. Beck seemed too focused on his performance to have registered Celine’s presence, but Dr. Jhandir was acutely aware of it, not to mention the open bedroom door and inhabited parlor beyond, all of which made it imprudent to set Beck straight.

“I can’t accept your apology,” he said instead, after fighting down the urge to throttle the other man. Beck looked shocked for a moment, then sighed again—altogether too theatrically, in Dr. Jhandir’s opinion.

“Sometimes I can hardly forgive myself, but Anil, I—”

“Dr. Jhandir,” Dr. Jhandir interjected.

“Excuse me?” Beck asked, the train of his self-pity momentarily derailed.

“Dr. Jhandir. Not Anil. I’ll thank you to refer to me by my proper title. You are my subordinate here—this resistance values skill and effort over titles.”

That snapped Beck from his funk. His cheeks colored and his eyes narrowed.

“You should consider yourself lucky to have worked under me,” he declared. “There’s a damned good reason the government doesn’t make a habit of hiring men like you! You’re just about qualified to be a civil servant in some backwater, but I worked with you long enough to see through all your pretentions of being anything more.”

It was an old argument, one that Beck trotted out whenever he felt Dr. Jhandir was getting too uppity for his station. After not seeing him for three years, Dr. Jhandir was surprised how much it still stung.

“You are being terribly rude, doctor,” Celine said lightly, after a long moment of the two men glaring at each other. “You haven’t even introduced us.” Dr. Jhandir couldn’t imagine why the girl might want a formal introduction to a cretin like Beck, but being reminded of proper etiquette did allow him to tamp down his anger.

Beck turned, apparently noticing Celine for the first time. His pinched expression widened into shock. He looked, in truth, like he’d seen a ghost—not terribly surprising, given Celine’s resemblance to her sister.

“Celine, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, this is Lord Thaddeus Beck,” Dr. Jhandir said, pettily enjoying the other man’s stunned silence. Beck bowed lower than Dr. Jhandir himself had, but didn’t stop staring at Celine, which somewhat ruined the show of gallantry, in the doctor’s opinion.

“Forgive me, miss, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a woman so lovely as you,” Beck said.

“Really, do get hold of yourself,” Dr. Jhandir muttered, just loud enough for Beck to hear him. The nobleman shot him a sharp look.

“You used to work for the government, Lord Beck?” Celine asked with a smile that looked slightly forced. She must have known already, being Cordelia’s sister, but, then again, she likely wasn’t looking to reveal that information. There was a click as she pressed the button on her pen to allow ink flow. “Tell me, did you witness any particularly ghastly tortures? I’ve heard terrible things.”

“That’s hardly an appropriate subject of discussion with a young lady like yourself,” Beck said, quicker on his feet at the abrupt question than Dr. Jhandir had been. “And it breaks my heart to see such a beautiful creature involved in tasteless drudgery like journalism, in any case.”

Celine looked as though she was beginning to regret not fleeing with Cordelia. “I’m not a reporter. This is full of inspiration for my paintings.”

“You mean you paint…” Beck trailed off, clearly uncomfortable with her subject matter. Dr. Jhandir wondered, cheerfully, how the romanticized mental picture the aristocrat had undoubtedly been building of Celine would weather this new information.

“I do. I was the talk of Manhattan’s art world, you know.”

Beck suddenly smiled as though he’d thought of something ingenious. “In that case, you really ought to talk more to Dr. Jhandir”—he sneered the title, but the doctor was nonetheless pleased that he’d capitulated so easily—“who has quite a lot of experience in that field.”

If Beck had meant to bestir Dr. Jhandir’s conscious by making him think on his grisly past, the nobleman was even more of a fool than he had thought. Beck had been right about one thing, though.

“This really is neither the time nor the place for such talk,” Dr. Jhandir apologized to Celine, as though she was the only one in the room with him. “Lord Beck just recently joined our ranks, and any discussion of the projects he oversaw, regardless of how little hand he had in the actual work done, would only sew mistrust of him.” The implication being, of course, that his own reputation was beyond reproach.

“Well, if that time ever comes, I have so many more questions I’d like to ask you,” Celine said, sounding disappointed. “I’m sure you’d be invaluable as a source of inspiration. It was wonderful to meet you—and you as well, Lord Beck—but I’ve only just arrived in town myself, and I have a lot to see to. Good day.”

After waiting a suitable amount of time following Celine’s departure, Beck left as well, without so much as another word to Dr. Jhandir. The doctor sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, garnering no response from Spencer. Working with Beck looked like it was going to prove even more disagreeable than Dr. Jhandir had feared. Even lording his authority over his former boss would quickly lose its luster if Beck insisted on talking back to him at every turn.

Later that night, after most of the infirmary’s current inhabitants had gone to sleep, Dr. Jhandir took a few minutes to tidy his parlor. It seemed that no matter how clearly he instructed his various guests to be respectful of his things, the place was always in disarray by day’s end. As he hung up a jacket that someone had carelessly flung over the back of a sofa, he noticed a visiting card sitting face-down in the silver receiving tray by the door. That was odd, since the tray was mostly for show, simply a component of a properly-appointed entry.

There was nothing a greeting card could do to hurt him—any chemical reaction would require more than just the touch of his fingers to set into motion, and whoever left it couldn’t have known when he would find it, making a timed attack implausible. Still, Dr. Jhandir hadn’t survived this long by taking chances. He doubled back into the bedroom, grabbed a pair of long forceps, and used them to pick up the card rather than do so with his bare hand. Nothing happened, and he let out a little nervous laugh at his unnecessary precautions.

This particular card had its text overlaid on an image of clasped hands. Not itself an unusual motif, but these hands were skinless, detailed like anatomical sketches. Seeing that, he would have been able to guess whose it was even without Celine’s name printed on it. The address, presumably one in Manhattan, had been scribbled out and replaced with a handwritten local one.

Dr. Jhandir plucked the card from the forceps, folded it crisply in half, and stuck it in a pocket of his waistcoat. If Celine was really that interested, he’d be sure to pay her a call soon.


	6. Caroline Marcel / @extraterrestrial-whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @extraterrestrial-whispers.

Caroline hummed quietly to herself, stroking Professor Gilbert’s forehead with a damp cloth in one hand and clutching a note in the other. The slip of paper was small and crumpled at the edges, though the words inscribed on it itself were simple. It was just an address.

The whole thing had started that past Friday when Dr. Jhandir had sent her on an errand to pick up more bandages from a rebellion run shop on the Xi platform. Her electric system was working well in small quantities, so she hadn’t much to do but busy work.

She’d pulled a cloak over herself and it draped to hide the messenger bag she had her money stowed in. She’d taken a scarf and wrapped it around her head, tying it neatly beneath her chin.

Out into the city she ventured, occasionally hopping on the back of a carriage until she was shooed off. The place was relatively easy to find as there were very few medicinal apothecary and supplies shops. A small bell had tinkled as she walked through the door. With the money Dr. Jhandir had given her, she was not only to restock the bandage supply, but to pick up what else she thought might be of use.

As she perused the various bottles and serums, the bell behind her rang. A young man entered with a stack of boxes towering so high that he very narrowly made it through the door.

“Here, let me assist you,” Caroline said, rushing forward to take a few off of the top. She was surprised (but not discontented) to see that the young man was one of the most handsome she’d ever seen. Her cheeks burned as he gestured to where to set them down.

“Thank you, I’m running the store as Mr. Tilbit is ill today.” His voice was soft and slow, like being read to sleep. She tried to keep her wits. “May I help you?”

“Oh, yes… um… four sets of bandages, please.” He nodded and disappeared into the back. While he was gone she calmed herself enough to peruse the section of tonics and select what she needed. He set the bundles up on the counter and tallied up the cost of the items. Caroline’s hand had quivered ever so slightly as she handed him the payment (she hoped he had not noticed). He returned the change. *Thank you.”

She soon realized that she had purchase more than she could carry. The bottles she tucked into her bag, but a single person could only carry two bundles. “Would you like some help carrying those home?”

“Oh yes, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” If he was running the shop for Mr. Tilbit, she assumed he must be a part of the resistance. He picked up the bundles she’d neglected and flipped the sign on the door. As they began down the sidewalk, she noticed how much taller he was (30 cm, at least). “I’m James, by the way, James Black. Most people just call me Jim.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Caroline Marcel. I’d shake your hand but I seem to be a bit tied up at the moment.” They chuckled. She suppressed her urge to be shy. “How old are you, Jim?”

“Twenty and two, you?” He blushed suddenly, realizing he should not have asked a lady her age.

“Nineteen, but my birthday is in two weeks.” They walked in silence a moment. “Are you from around here?”

“No.” He didn’t follow up and couldn’t look her in the eye.

“I’ve always lived here, in the city. I used to live on the Epsilon platform, but…” Her voice cracked. She hadn’t thought about Dr. Jacobi in a long while, and even the slightest memory of how much she missed him brought tears to her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Caroline.” Even though he barely knew her, he still comforted her. She was nothing short of a fool for him.

They chatted as they walked, now staying clear of emotional subjects. She told him about the city, the best places to go, where to stay away from. He listened to every word she said intently and she did the same to him. She’d never met someone so agreeable in her entire life. When they reached the infirmary, she didn’t want him to come in. She was worried about what the others might say.

“When can we meet again?” She asked.

“Here,” he handed her her treasured slip of paper. “This is where I live, we can meet there Tuesday night. Perhaps you can show me that park you spoke of?” The one she had once visited with her mother.

“I’d like that. Farewell, Jim.” She said around the now four bundles she was balancing.

“Goodnight, Caroline.”

Now, she was waiting for it to fall dark enough for her to slip away. The sun dipped below the horizon and the street lamp lighters had set out on their routes. With her cloak secured around her and her paper in hand, she was ready to go. She blew out the candle on her desk and spun around directly into Dr, Jhandir.

“Where are you going, Caroline?” He inquired, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“Louisa’s,” She lied. As much as she loved Dr. Jhandir (she probably trusted him most out of anyone), she couldn’t tell him. She had so few things that were hers and only hers - she would keep it a secret for now.

“It’s getting late, be careful.”

“Yes, sir.” She started to go towards the door.

“Wait-” She turned with a feeling of dread. “You look lovely.” She blushed.

“Thank you, sir.”

She had combed her hair and left it loose. As far as an ensemble went, she wore her cleanest white top tucked into a multi colored skirt that had been made from fabric scraps. Her corset highlighted her slim figure. She felt beautiful.

Once she made it to the address, Jim was already outside leaning against a brick wall.

“I was worried you weren’t going to come, with what’s been happening and all.” She blinked in confusion. “You haven’t heard?” He pulled her close, perhaps a little closer than necessary for whispering. He told her of mysterious threats from an unknown archivist and of the secrets he planned to expose.

She felt confused, and a little frightened. Was there a third, neutral party at play? The very thought made her heart race. They were understaffed as it was, there couldn’t be any more attacks.It must have shown on her face.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be okay.” He smiled and she returned it, wondering if she could possibly blush anymore times in one evening.

“Would you still like to go to the park?” She asked,

“I would love to.” He offered his elbow like the wealthy gentlemen did and she took it, and for one evening… just a few hours… she was somewhere else.


	7. Dr. Suttler / @closetcellist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by @closetcellist, aka [closetcellist](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist).

It had been a difficult month for Dr. Irving Suttler.

If asked, he would have sworn that it was longer; while he was still dedicated to the Rebellion and its cause, and really everyone else at the base, it took an enormous amount of energy to get up and deal with Dr. Jhandir every day and he was already feeling drained when he snuck away into the office to grab a minute to himself. He had not realized the room was already occupied, and was about to apologize when he processed who he was actually looking at. Instead of words, what escaped him was one very loud, high-pitched laugh, before he slapped a hand over his own mouth to stop the rest from escaping. That particular nervous habit hadn’t made an appearance in years, and until now, until seeing Lord Beck again, he’d hoped he had simply outgrown it.

Lord Beck had apparently not known Dr. Suttler was present at the base either, though he was betrayed by his expression, not his voice. He quickly crossed over to close the door to the office. “Pull yourself together, man,” Lord Beck murmured, turning back to Dr. Suttler, effectively blocking the closed door and trapping the doctor with him for the moment.

“Why are  _you_  here?” Dr. Suttler asked in a strained whisper, as soon as he felt he could control his vocalizations.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Lord Beck said, listening at the door for a moment. Nothing like voices filtered through, so it seemed unlikely they would be overheard.

“But why are you  _here_?” Dr. Suttler asked.  He had heard the news of Lord Beck’s decision to join the Rebellion, but never in his most frenetic nightmares had he assumed he would join  _this_  base.

“I was told this was where my skills would be of most use,” Lord Beck said. “Though there do seem to be rather more acquaintances from my past than I’d expected to see. I suppose you’ll just have to transfer,” Lord Beck said, shrugging.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Suttler asked, gaping at him for a moment. “First of all, I’ve been with the Rebellion for years as a member of good standing, and I’d think even you could recognize that kind of seniority. And second of all…I can’t.”

“Why not?” Lord Beck asked. It seemed a reasonable enough thing to request—people just didn’t get along sometimes, and if you had a limited number of doctors it seemed prudent to spread them around a bit. “Surely it isn’t that difficult a thing to arrange.”

“I can’t transfer to another base because Dr. Jhandir has been blackmailing me,” Dr. Suttler admitted after an uncomfortable moment of silence. “He’s rude and horrible and he makes me do all of the most tedious possible tasks, because I can’t leave or complain about them. It’s degrading.”

Lord Beck didn’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow at that.

“Oh,  _don’t_ ,” Dr. Suttler said, bitterly, scowling.  “You’re not above this—if he knows about me that means he knows about you too.”

“Why would he have to know about me?” Lord Beck asked, almost offended by the suggestion. “I don’t know what kind of other indiscretions you’ve committed—“

Dr. Suttler was suddenly quite furious. “Don’t you dare finish that thought,  _Thaddeus_ ,” he practically hissed in an effort to keep his voice down. “Even if he doesn’t know about you, I’m not taking the blame for this alone. Not again. But he does know about you, because you’re here. He’s set this whole thing up, I promise you that. Maybe you’ve forgotten what he’s like, but I’ve been dealing with him every day and I know that he’s behind this.”

“I know that Anil’s current state is mostly my fault—” Lord Beck tried, a hint of self-pity creeping into his voice at what was surely the beginning of a long monologue.

“I see you still give yourself credit at the wrong times,” Dr. Suttler interrupted, unmoved and unimpressed. “Really, you could never create something worse than yourself. And he  _is_  worse than you, as shocking as that might seem. He’s trying to destroy me, and I’ve never done anything to him. Think, for a moment, what he’s going to try to do to you.”

Lord Beck opened his mouth to protest, but in the end he hesitated and that hesitation betrayed him.

“I thought so,” Dr. Suttler said. “So. I think, given the circumstances…we’ll have to work together.”

“But Faye—”

Dr. Suttler narrowed his eyes. “I’ve heard enough about Faye to last my entire existence. I didn’t say we should have another affair; I said we should work together. I need help to get rid of Dr. Jhandir. I can’t do this on my own.” He held out his hand for Lord Beck to shake. “Well?”

Lord Beck took it after only a moment, sealing the deal with a firm handshake. “Agreed. Anil does seem to have gotten a bit full of himself since I last saw him.”

“I’m glad your heart’s not divided about him, at least,” Dr. Suttler muttered, letting go.

An interested second of silence snuck between them. “You remember my poems?” Lord Beck asked, quietly, his expression inscrutable.

Dr. Suttler crossed his arms and looked away, the tension in the room slipping away to something else.  “Of course I do. No one else ever wrote me poems.”

Lord Beck hummed softly to himself. “A shame,” he posited, watching Dr. Suttler carefully.

At that, Dr. Suttler turned away, giving up the last pretense of still having the higher ground. “The whole damned thing is a shame,” he muttered, referring to at least three separate situations at the same time.

Lord Beck let a beat of silence pass undisturbed before he spoke again. “I’ll see you around, Irving,” he said, almost gently, before he opened the door and slipped out, leaving Dr. Suttler alone in the room again.

Dr. Suttler listened to the door close, his shoulders slumping when he was sure Lord Beck was gone. It really was an unfairly difficult month.


	8. Beth de Garcia / @heymisstm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by @heymisstm.

Beth had seen quite a lot of activity in the world the last few weeks. She, as CEO of a shipping company, had many contacts overseas. So you can imagine her surprise when she learned from a captain in allegiance with the Resistance that a group from overseas were coming to help them.

Despite all the hype about the newcomers Beth didn't personally meet any of them. It was like she was in a place when they had just left! She was quite disappointed - she had wanted to see what the American side of the battle had to offer. Well, she may get assigned with one of them. It would be fun to play with the newcomers a bit…

However, she did have a rather awkward meeting with one Lord Beck, while he was gathering a few supplies that she’d had shipped in. Though he was on their side now, she had heard enough from the good Doctor Jhandir to feel a little hostile toward him. He seemed apprehensive at least - seemingly her reputation as a fierce woman preceded her. Good. She wanted to make a lasting impression on people.

And then there was the case of the Archivist. The mysterious figure who seemingly knew all the secrets of the resistance. Beth doubted his very existence, and the very least his claims to know the ins and outs of the rebellion. Still, she remained vigilant and secretive as ever. She needed to keep a cool head.

Things were falling into place. She had started a friendship of sorts with Walter Steers (even if in reality it was one-sided - he didn’t need to know that). Business was booming, she was enjoying her time at the infirmary, action was picking up. Now all she needed was some more information...


	9. Adeline Woodside / @nvaldi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @nvaldi.

Adeline strolled along the pathway, up to the Omicron platform with the report she brought every other day, depending on what instructions she was given. She had been going through this for what felt like forever now. Adeline hadn’t had any run-ins with Chauncey where she had seemed anything but trusting. As she took a deep breath, she realized that Madelaide and Chauncey probably weren’t even at the base, but she might run into one of the new rebellion miners, either a low-towner, an American, or Lord Beck, who she didn’t mind all that much.

Just as she had thought, when she was on her way out, she came across a girl, about a year or two older than herself, who looked rather lost. Approaching her, Adeline took a deep breath. She was so bad at starting conversations and introducing herself to new people. She rushed on, startling the girl a bit.

“Are you lost?” Adeline inquired, a bit timidly, reminding herself that she was not the new one here.

“Hmm?” the girl replied, lost in thought, “Oh, um, no I don’t think so. I’m just waiting for my friends to return,” she said with a smile. “I’m Celine, by the way, and, as you may have already noticed," I’m American. I joined up with the MSAA because of my brother being so bad at snooping around, which I’m rather glad bout because otherwise I never would have joined.” The girl just talked, rushed, without even breathing. "What’s your name, anyway? I haven’t seen you around here before, but that’s not saying much because I don’t come here often."

“I’m Adeline, and I often come here to file my reports,” Adeline replied in a hurry, afraid Celine would rush on. Honestly, that girl spoke as if she was a freight train, not stopping for anyone to get a word in edgeways.

“Do you run this base?” Celine inquired, and her whole face seemed to radiate curiosity, hungry for knowledge.

“No, actually, I-”

“Why not? Is it because you didn’t get elected?” Adeline merely nodded, shocked by the sudden interruption, while Celine continued, “I knew it, you’re a bit to quiet for that. Do you like the people that run this base?”

“Yes, they are attentive and good leaders. Though one of them I would prefer not to be assigned this specific location.”

“Why not?” Celine interrogated, “Is that person so rude? Disgusting? Ugly?” Adeline felt as if she was being interrogated with the onslaught of questions.

“No, many people like him, but he seems so secretive to me. I believe he is hiding something from the whole rebellion, he definitely has his own agenda.”

“I see what you mean. I bet he feels the same way about you, your seem very secretive to me,” Celine cast aside Addie’s feeling without another mention of Chauncey. Celine plowed on, “Where’s your favourite place in thus city? I bet you live somewhere fancy, seeing your clothes.” Adeline winced a bit at this comment.

“Well, there is a place on the Beta platform…” Adeline said trailing off.

“Sounds great!” exclaimed Celine, looping her arm through Adeline’s and tugging her towards the exit. “What is it?”

“An observatory. I think you’ll enjoy it very much.” Adeline replied, smiling. “Let’s take the long route, though. I feel as if you should have an insider’s tour of London, complete with the best cafe’s with world famous teacakes.”

“Ooh, sound delicious! Is there anywhere that has a ghastly past? with beheading and whatnot?” Celine said, almost bouncing up and down with excitement. She seemed to have a great bundle of energy, almost ready to burst at any moment.

“Of course. We’ll go to the Tower then. Wait,” Adeline said frowning slightly, “what about your friend? The one you were waiting for? Won’t she be lost when you are not present when she returns?”

Celine just smiled, a bit mischievously. “Who said my friend actually exists and it wasn’t just a cover tory? Come on!” Celine grabbed Adeline hand and practically dragged her out of the base, letting Addie trip on her skirts.

As she rushed to catch up with Celine, Adeline couldn’t help but think she had found a new friend.


	10. Lady Lydia Stanley / @from-the-garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @from-the-garden.

The Resistance's little library of banned and beloved books was one of Lydia's favorite places in the world. All sorts of very interesting things were happening around the base with very interesting new people, but Lydia had yet to meet any of them, as Thomas (newly up and hobbling), had decided the safest place for her was the library, away from the action. Lydia would have been much more cross if she didn't adore the place so very much.

"This box goes on these shelves, right, Mrs. Barclay?" Lydia perched a bit precariously on top of the library's rolling ladder. The old woman glanced up from her work at the desk, peering over top of her reading spectacles.

"Yes, my dear, that's right."

After the attack on Pi, much of the library had been destroyed, but Lydia had been helping to move and rebuild it. Shelves stood close together in the little room, boxes of books and papers scattered about, waiting to be organized. Even from her perch, Lydia couldn't see the whole room. She was fairly sure there were at least two other people milling about.

Lydia set the box on a shelf and began to sort through the volumes. A little gasp escaped her as she lifted a book from the box with a very familiar title. At that moment, a sickening creak came from one of the ladder's wheels. All at once, Lydia was tumbling through the air, only to land perfectly in a pair of outstretched arms.

"Er. Hello. Are you all right?" A pair of wide brown eyes stared down at her from a rather handsome face. She found suddenly that speaking was difficult.

"Oh, er, yes, yes, quite alright, thank you." The boy was still carrying her. It was just then that he seemed to realize it, and set her down rather quickly.

"Wuthering Heights. A good book, that. A bit creepy..."

"Excuse me?" Lydia stared, perplexed, before realizing she was still holding the book from the box. "Oh! Yes! I- I only just read it and I enjoyed it immensely."

The boy nodded, and Lydia did too, and they simply stood there and nodded for several moments.

"I'm Greg, by the way. Greg Harris." He offered his hand, and Lydia shook it.

"Lydia. It's nice to meet you."

Greg opened his mouth to respond but the library door flew open at that moment. Mrs. Barclay’s eyes widened as the intruder flew into the room, a girl with loose dark hair, trousers, and a very unladylike gait. Lydia liked her already.

"Greg! There you are! Ida just finished meeting with the Resistance leaders and wants to meet with us now, and I couldn't find you anywhere." She paused, glancing around at the mountains of books. "Oh, you would find the library right away."

"Lydia, meet Sadie. She's-"

"Pleasure, now come on, we've got to go!" Sadie took his arm and nearly dragged him from the room.

"Goodbye, Greg! Thanks for-" The door slammed behind them. "...saving me..." Lydia's sentence trailed off. It seemed as though these new people were even more interesting than she’d thought.

Mrs. Barclay wore a funny little smile as she peered down at Lydia over her glasses. "He's rather handsome, isn't he?"

Lydia straightened herself. "Oh... is he? I- I hadn't noticed."


End file.
